Wyoming Christmas Reunion--A Clean Romance by Melinda Curtis

Author:Melinda Curtis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2022-09-12T18:12:44+00:00

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“WHAT’S THE RUSH in cutting down a Christmas tree?” Nash pulled a sled with a Christmas carol–singing Luke sitting on it. There was about an hour before sunset on Monday afternoon. He slogged through the snowy meadow north of the arena. “I have training to do.” And it was easier for him to talk to Helen when Luke was elsewhere.

“If you need to train more, you can do it tomorrow.” Helen walked a few feet ahead, blazing a trail through about half a foot of snow.

“We don’t have many tomorrows, Helen.”

She said nothing.

A pit formed in Nash’s gut, large enough for his heart to fall through and tumble toward his toes. “We’ll train after dinner.”

“We can’t. We’re going to put up our tree tonight.” Helen sounded adamant. “Happy memory-making time. That’s more important than training.”

Nash’s jaw clenched. “You told Phil earlier that you were going to win the bet. That means we should train.” And train harder. And talk through whatever was bothering her.

“I’m not up to speed in the saddle.” She picked up her pace. “And watching you train... I’ve watched you compete and train enough over the years to know what you’re doing. I’m not going to learn how to ride by osmosis.”

“Ouch. Maybe we should talk about what’s really bothering you.” Young audience or not.

Rather than elaborate, she joined Luke in song. “Fa-la-la-la-la. La-la-la-la.” Regardless of the tension between them, what Helen lacked in harmony, she made up for with enthusiasm.

He gave her props for that, even as he recognized the avoidance tactic. He’d used it enough himself, although never by bursting into song.

Now Nash knew firsthand how Helen must have felt when he wouldn’t talk in more detail about the accident. Frustrated. Shut out. Alone. The more he dwelled on it, the more the negative feelings filled his inner well and the stronger the siren’s call for something to assuage the bad.

He focused on the smooth blankets of snow on the landscape, the crisp, cold air in his lungs, Helen’s and Luke’s voices lifting toward the sky.

He joined them in song. Surprisingly, singing with them made him feel better.

This part of the property had once been grazing land for the small herd they’d kept for beef and training purposes. The herd they had now was smaller still and currently roamed the pastures on the other side of the main house.

There was a grove of pine trees ahead on the slope. A scattering of trees of various sizes dotted the landscape between here and there. Saplings that were knee or shoulder height. Nothing as grand as the trees he and Helen used to cut down each holiday.

“Mama, ‘Jingle Bells,’” Luke cried when they’d finished “Deck the Halls.” He led his parents in the first verse.

Helen sang loudly and unapologetically off-key.

Two songs later, they reached a larger group of trees on the edge of the grove—four to six footers.

“Tell me if you see my horse, Daddy,” Luke said as they came to a stop.

“I’m pretty sure she’ll stay in the south pasture.

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